


Splish, Splash

by Kelly123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All Around Vagueness, Alternate Universe - College/University, But mostly fluff, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, Pool Party Shenanigans, Summer Is Coming, Teenage Awkwardness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelly123/pseuds/Kelly123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which no one actually gets into any water, but it's kind of mentioned.</p><p>Or rather, I needed some fluff, okay?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splish, Splash

**Author's Note:**

> So openmouthwideeye dashed my soul to bits this weekend with her most recent installment of the fabulous West Eros High series, and after reading it four times over I decided I needed fluff, and I needed it immediately.
> 
> That, in turn, spawned whatever this is.
> 
> Apologies handy for whoever takes a chance on it.

She should probably be terrified right now, and maybe, somewhere deep down she is, because it's him...and he always scares her a little in a way she doesn't quite understand.

But more than fear, right now she feels a sort of strange fascination, like she's front row for a disaster and she can't look away. He has the blade clenched in his good hand, arm raised level with his absurdly handsome face, complete with sunkissed summer skin and green eyes sparkling with malicious glee.

This is a bad idea. It's going to be messy, and she is going to be the one to have to clean it up, but the words to tell him 'no' die soundlessly in her throat as she stands helplessly by.

He brings the knife down with probably more force than the task requires so that his muscles tense in a way she is certain he is all too aware of. The sight only grants a temporary distraction though, before just as she suspected, they are both splattered with red when the deed is done. He looks up at her from beneath long black lashes with a glint in his eyes that makes her stomach drop to the tip of her toes, only not quite, because it surely plummets even lower when he follows it up by flicking his tongue out to remove a drop from his upper lip.

Seven. Hells.

She turns on her heel away from him the second she notices the corners of his lips quirk upward in a knowing smirk, and she realizes she is all but gaping at the spectacle he has so masterfully orchestrated. Grabbing a cloth from the counter, she runs it under the facet and wills her heart to stop pounding. She wishes she could duck her flushed face under the stream of cold water as well, but settles for drenching her trembling hands and hopes the cool will travel up her skin to where it burns under the weight of his gaze on the back of her neck.

It doesn't, of course, because somehow she is stuck in the Stark's kitchen with Jaime flippin' Lanister and the world as she knows it has decided to turn completely upside down.

Most girls would cherish the opportunity for some one on one with one of the most handsome guys in town, but she's never been any good at the kind of stuff girls are supposed to like.

She throws a drenched towel at him when she's decided she has stood at the sink for longer than can be deemed excusable, and he catches it with an easy grace in his left hand, still smiling. Setting to work at scrubbing the sticky island with her own towel, she grumbles at him but doesn't make eye contact, fixing her eyes on the splattered mess before her. "It's not a sword, you know. You didn't have to stick it in so hard."

He snorts less than charmingly then, and she can't stop herself from looking up to investigate the sound. Confusion clouds her thoughts for several heartbeats as they stare at one another, but when he cocks an eyebrow she turns an even deeper shade of crimson than his custom Nike's, the unspoken, 'that's what she said' hanging heavy in the air between them.

She splutters and gasps like a fool, but there isn't really anything to say in a situation like this, at least not for a girl like her. Her ballsy classmate Margaery might have quipped back with a sexual innuendo of her own, but the thought of such words coming from her mouth makes her feel light-headed. So she turns back to the mess before her, gripping the towel with both hands as she resumes scrubbing the countertop vigorously enough to threaten splinters. He laughs out loud, and the sound reverberates in her ears like a clanging cymbal. She tries her best to block it out and is concentrating so hard on not bolting out of the room like a wounded animal that she almost jumps out of her skin when she feels him lay his hands atop hers.

"Hey, cool it would ya? You're going to take the skin off." His voice still holds a hint of amusement, but it's softer than she would have expected. She stands stock still and counts her breathes to remind herself to actually take them as his hand remains in contact with her own, searing the skin for what feels simultaneously an eternity and half a moment.

"Sorry." She mumbles, and has to stop herself from letting out a gasp of something, either relief or disappointment, when he moves away.

"Me too. Guess I don't know my own strength." He picks up the knife again and returns to the cutting board, where the watermelon still lies cleaved in half. "I'll try to control myself this time. For the sake of the counter and your poor fingertips."

She nods without really thinking about it, and removes the rest of the sticky mess without going overboard as he slices the fruit with dexterity she can't help but to be slightly surprised by. When Jaime's car was struck by a drunk driver last year, pinning his right hand under the steering wheel and crushing it beyond repair, everyone knew his athletic career was all but ruined. He had been the captain and most promising member of the water polo team for years, and everyone know he was in talks with scouts regarding the Olympic team for the next games. That had all been swept away when some guy named Hoat with a nasty temper and a bit of a drinking problem broadsided Jaime's astronomically expensive and yet extremely tiny sports car and took off on down the highway. The cops caught up with him eventually, but the damage had been done, and you didn't have to be a gossip to hear how devastated the Lannister family had been by the accident. Watching him now, though, she barely notices the arm which ends in a stump resting against the cutting board as he deftly wields the knife in his left.

When he glances up at her with another one of those cocky smirks, though, she realizes she is staring yet again and makes quick work of finding a tray to put the watermelon on.

She thought it was going to be a quiet summer afternoon...or at least as quiet as could be expected when one was in charge of the Stark's resident wild child, youngest daughter Arya. Arya's mom had been Brienne's advisor freshman year, and had offered to let her be a personal assistant of sorts over the summer break. While most of the job entailed helping her file paperwork and sort documents for the upcoming semester, she also found herself being a bit of a built-in babysitter whenever the older siblings were out of the house. She didn't mind though, Arya was a fun girl in spite of being a handful, and all she really needed was a driver back and forth to her endless practices and sports camps. That, and on days like today, a chaperone for prepubescent pool parties.

There was a hodge-podge of classmates and neighbors milling around the Stark residence with their eldest daughter Sansa stationed poolside on lifeguard duty. Jaime's niece Myrcella went to the same school as Arya, but she was a couple years younger and didn't exactly run in the same crowd, so Brienne was more than surprised when she answered the door to find the two blondes standing on the Stark's doorstep. And even more surprised when Jaime followed her into the kitchen instead of retreating back to his car once Myrcella ran off to join the other kids in the backyard.

They had met in passing a number of times, but she hadn't needed a half-hearted introduction from Mrs. Stark to know his name. The two of them went to the same university and frequented the same gym, running into each other at a regular intervals, but their interactions were typically nonexistent. He was an upperclassmen, not to mention the son of the richest man in town, and she wasn't anyone to take notice of...at least, for reasons other than a cruel joke or prank.

She wondered if he remembered calling her Brienne the Beauty and laughing at the idea of her in a swimsuit with the other guys in the locker room after water polo practice last year. She had harbored half a crush on him her first semester at school, when they shared an algebra class. She had clepped into a higher level right out of high school, and the rumors differed as to whether this was his second or even fifth time to take the class. Still, she couldn't help but to be slightly awed by his effortless confidence, both as he strolled into class an hour late or commanded the rest of the team in the pool across from where she lifted weights and waited for her turn in the water. That was all shattered when she rounded the corner two seconds too late to escape the gym without his teammates catching sight of her and her horrible swimsuit in question. She had actually been surprised he had known her name, as absurd a thought as that had been in the midst of such humiliation. Now though, she wouldn't be surprised if the whole ordeal wasn't thing more than just a blurred memory for him. Not that it mattered, she remembered, and probably enough for the both of them...and yet, the crass, booming laughter which plaqued her dreams for weeks after the fact had sounded entirely different from the easy, teasing chuckle he was giving her now.

The sound bubbles effortlessly out of his throat as she unthinkingly slaps at his hand when he tries to slip a piece of melon off the tray she's piled with slices to take out to the kids. She doesn't know why she does it, there is plenty to go around and by all social standards it's definitely not okay to hit a Lannister, but she cant stop herself from grinning down at her work when he responds as such. The smile vanishes from her lips when she feels something brush against the back of her neck.

His fingers touch her skin for a second time that afternoon, and this time she recoils at his touch when it brushes through the short hairs which grow at her nape.

"What are you doing?" She asks in a voice more severe than she had intended, and he stills his hand as if too pull away.

He doesn't though, and instead walks his fingers down the column of her spine until she feels them slide under the collar of her t-shirt.

"Just checking-"

"For what?" She spits out, cutting him off. She can anticipate his answer, and her stomach coils in dread at the idea.

"No bikini ties? Aren't you going to join us in the water, wench?"

She doesn't know why he calls her that, but something about it sparks tears behind her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How could she think it was okay to let her guard down around someone like him? She did in fact have her swimsuit on underneath, but it was a simple one piece with none of the frilly ties he was evidently feeling for, designed for swimming laps instead of sunbathing. Exactly the kind she used to wear at the gym...before him and his teammates ruined it for her.

She jerks out of his reach, and in taking a step back her flip-flip skids helplessly in a puddle of watermelon goo. It only takes half a second before she's crashing to the ground, as gracelessly as ever, pulling Jaime down with her, because obviously, that's how screwed up her life is at the moment.

Somehow, and for some reason, he's managed to get his stump behind her head, and so when she hits the floor her skull doesn't crack against the linoleum. It rebounds against the flesh and bone which supports it, and she watches him grimace in pain without making a sound. There is sticky sweetness seeping into her back now, and at her front she has the weight of Jaime Lannister pressing against her at every possible angle. The both gasp for breathe as the wind is knocked out of them upon impact, and then she gasps again when she catches sight of him.

Her shirt has slipped from one shoulder, and the thoroughly practical, entirely unattractive black strap of her swimsuit is bared on her freckle-dusted skin. He's staring at it like she's never been stared at before, like she's a girl and he's a boy and he...he actually likes what he sees. The sensation is entirely foreign to her and more than a little frightening. His eyes are dark with something she doesn't recognized, and he's got his remaining hand pressed into her waist under cotton but on top of spandex, fingers digging into her hip in a way which should be painful but really isn't, not even a little bit. He slides his stump out from under her head and uses it to prop himself up so that he leans over her, caging her in with his body. She feels small, lying down like this, even though she's probably got a good two inches on him when they are standing face to face, and it probably isn't healthy how much she likes the feeling.

He's still staring at her, but his eyes have moved from her shoulder, to the too-full lower lip she has trapped between her too-big teeth, to her eyes which gaze wide and stunned back into his. She is still struggling for breath when he breaks the silence with a rumble against her chest.

"I've seen you, ya know. At the Y with Arya, calming her down after she blows up at the boys on the field for treating her like she can't hang with them, when she obviously is better then the half the team. She doesn't listen to anyone but you when she gets heated like that. And I know you're always sticking up for that kid Payne when the coaches won't let him play, and showing him circuits to run to improve his stamina after practice is over even though you don't have to." He licks his lips even though there is no more watermelon on them, and his eyes dart down to hers for half a second before he continues. "I've seen you sneak back into the gym after hours to swim laps when you think no one is there to see you." 

She blushes for a million different reasons, and tries to think back to the last time she saw him at the gym. "But...how-"

"You aren't the only one who wants a little privacy." He says with a grimace, and she thinks of how much better he has gotten with his left hand, even though she rarely sees him in the water with his former teammates. "And I bet it's my fault you feel like that. I'm sorry, for what I said before in the locker room. It was stupid, and I didn't mean it...or maybe I did back then, but I don't anymore. I get it, though, if you're still pissed at me, but you're good. Like really good, I would know."

She remembers all the late nights she spends at the pool, and wonders how many of them she had unknowingly shared the silence with him, interrupting his training. The Lannisters have a pool, she's almost sure of it, and she wonders why he wouldn't just practice there if he wanted privacy. But then she remembers the photograph of the family in the paper after Jaime's hand had to be amputated and Hoat was on facing charges, and sees too clearly the look of disdain in his father's eyes and disgust in his sister's. She thinks she might understand not wanting to spend much time around those kinds of people, because shes been guarding herself from the likes of them her while life and if anyone understands needing space, it's her. Although, sometimes it might have been nice to...

"You could have...I would have helped you." She croaks out weakly, because his thumb has started to trace out circles against her suit, and she feels the muscles in her abdomen contract of their own accord. He pauses, and his eyes narrow before he continues again, and she know he felt it too.

"Helped me what, Brienne?" He says in a low voice, and she clenches her eyes shut as the sound of her own name on his lips travels through her. He is still too gorgeous for his own good, she tries to tell herself, he still ignored her and made fun of her, and-

"I'm not going to help you win the bet." She says suddenly, launching herself upright and into a sitting position and almost knocking him off of her.

Almost. 

He straddles her now, knees on either side of her waist, and her hands go up to push against his chest but he encircles one of her wrists with his good hand so gently she can't bring herself to put any force behind the action. Instead her palms rest softly against the cotton of his tank, and she resists the urge to curl her fingers in the material. Though whether to pull him closer or push him away she is unsure.

"I'm wasn't. Involved. In that." He growls out between clenched teeth, and his eyes are dark in an entirely different way now. She shivers involuntarily, and can't help but to feel a little flustered at his vehement response. "I know I said some stupid things with the guys, but that was just...I wouldn't ever do anything as vile as that disgusting bet, not to you, not ever."

"But...but you knew about it?" She asks, and her voice falters just as her hands lose their tread on his shirt.

"Ron told me about it."

"Ron? But he was kicked out out the gym, someone said he got in a fight and..."

Her voice trails off and she suddenly can't bring herself to meet his eyes. She's still just eighteen, and he's a five-year senior, but suddenly she feels even more naive than their age gap mandates. If he was sorry about last year, if he wasn't making fun of her about the swimsuit, if he had beat up Ron for her...what did any of that mean? And why? She had given up holding a grudge against everyone who had ever been cruel to her long ago, or else she would waste all her time and energy being bitter. It was just that most of the people she forgave, well, they never really asked her to. She wasn't sure how these thing were supposed to go...and especially in such close contact.

"You have two options here Brienne. You could pull your shirt back over your ridiculously tantalizing shoulder and go give those squealing brats their damned watermelon, or you could close your eyes and let me kiss you...I said close them, not let those great big blue things bug out of your head, wench."

"Me?" She gasped.

"I don't see anyone else here."

"But-"

"And, for the record, I don't wish it was anyone else here, either. Just you."

"Just me..."

"Yeah...hey, your eyes are still open."

And she blinked, long and hard, three times before she took a deep breathe and let her lashes close together. She had a fleeting memory of Hyle and his sham of a kiss flash behind her lids, and her heart beat a tumultuous rhythm agains her ribs as she forced her eyes to stay closed. She felt exposed and incredibly vulnerable like this, waiting in the darkness for Jaime to either laugh at her or follow through with his promise, and she was pretty sure she had never been more scared of anything in her entire life...regardless of either outcome. But she didn't have to wait long. His breath was hot and his lips were soft and his mouth impossibly sweet in a way that couldn't be entirely due to the watermelon, and this time she lets her fingers wind into his shirt for anything to anchor her back to reality. The press of his mouth was enough to set her head spinning, and her own lips felt disjointed and out of synch with his for about five seconds, before he pulled back to lay a tiny peck softly at the corner of her mouth and whisper-

"You know, I don't even like watermelon, anyway."

And then, her back was pressed against the tile again and she had a fleeting yet terrifying thought that one of the kids might walk in on them, all lips and hands and wriggling around on the ground, and words could not express she wished them all gone. Because she very much might like to peel off her sticky clothes and share the swimming pool with someone new. Soon.

**Author's Note:**

> So couple things here. One, I know age-wise, it is impossible for Myrcella to be anywhere bear the right age for this to make sense with Jaime being in his early twenties, but it's a minor detail so humor me please!
> 
> Second, I don't really know what Arya or Pod or even Brienne really go to the gym for. I don't know what sport they play, but I saw some prompt on tumblr about Brienne being a swimmer and I ended up having a conversation with a stranger randomly about the Olympics and cute water polo boys this week, so whatever this is happened.
> 
> Other stuff probably doesn't make much sense either, but just bear with me, okay, because I was jonesing for sweet, summer J/B smooches, and to hell with the rest! (And maybe the ideal of them all tangled up in one another was just too tantalizing to let go of).


End file.
